


Darling Girl

by Teaandchips



Series: Three's a party [1]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, fuck yea season one Damon, great googly moogly, history in repeat kids, the boys find a different girl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7616725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaandchips/pseuds/Teaandchips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damon catches word of Stefan returning to Mystic Falls, and comes back to find him already back in school. And with a little brunette at his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ALTERNATE UNIVERSE: Stefan returns to Mystic Falls after Elena Gilbert has graduated high school, she's recently moved to Florida and is living a happy, human life with her Aunt and brother. Meanwhile, the Salvatore brothers find themselves stuck on another little human.

He enters without ceremony, calling for his brother in a loud, too smug voice. An older, decidedly more worn looking Zach comes wandering out of the hall. 

"You won't find him here, Damon." 

"Ouch. Harsh tone, little nephew." And he smiles, all glittering canines and black veins.

"He's at the school. The play's tonight," he replies coolly. Hands shoving into his pockets before he's disappearing from Damon's view. 

When he arrives at the school, the play's halfway through. Piercing blue gaze surveys the audience through the slit of a window in the auditorium door. He's having not a lick of luck, and there it is-

"Stefan," it's soft and breathy.

The older Salvatore's tongue curls behind his teeth at the sheer deliciousness of it all. Breathy girl, his brother's name, and a muted sigh like they're dancing on the edge of publicity. 

He's slipping through the dark backstage unnoticed, following the sound of a little sparrow like heartbeat he's come to believe is the girl's. It leads him with ease, the thread Ariadne if you will. Boot clad feet take the stairs all the way up to a room labeled _Wardrobe_. There's a dim light spilling through the crack of the heavy wooden door, shifting so he catches the right angle to peer in and-

A rare delicacy.

The great, Saint Stefan has pinned between his hips and the wall, a young girl. He's got his hands bracketing her head, her daintier ones sliding over his shoulders and through his hair. She's clad in a quaint costume, and that just makes it better. Her time offstage used to sneak off with his little brother. His gaze narrows down to the poetry of her long baby blue nightgown, then up to the matching ribbon holding her hair in a high ponytail. His tongue clicks behind his teeth as it all comes together. Obnoxious green posters covering the stage door, the blue nightgown- _Peter Pan_.

And it seemed little Wendy was all grown up.

"Please... Stefan," her words are sweet and low. Head tilting up so her face meets the dim lighting, and Damon's greeted with bright chocolate eyes and plush pink lips.

Stefan only hums at her, his pace slow and strong. Her nightgown is rucked up around her thick thighs, effectively blocking his view of anything. 

"If you don't go faster, I'm going to cry. Stefan, please," she murmurs. Gentle fingers tugging his hair so his head is angled enough for her lips to meet his.

Call Damon anything, but a generous man. He still would've given in to her request, generous man or not.

Stefan shushes her against her lips before giving a single sharp thrust and stilling inside of her. And she immediately whines, nails digging into his shoulders. Then he starts a fast pace, calloused hands moving to grip her thighs. Her head leans against the wall, mouth parted in an exquisite little 'o'. Stefan leans his head against her neck, pressing wet kisses along the pale skin. 

He must really have a lid on it.

And suddenly the girl's gaze flutters from view behind her lids, Stefan's hand flying up to catch a breathy cry in his palm. A groan loosing from his throat as she clenches around him, finding his release in her. There's this weighted pause, where they're both just staring at each other. His hand still over her mouth, and his release cooling at the very base of her. 

( Damon fights the urge to be sick at the very puppy love look of it. )

Suddenly, she giggles into his palm which he removes to smother her lips in a kiss. He's sliding out of her, gently dropping her to her toes. He's tucking himself into his jeans whilst she receives her panties from where they were hastily shoved into his front pocket. Then she's looking up at him with slightly frazzled hair, and a droplet of his release running down her soft thigh.

"I need to stop letting you convince me," Stefan smiles.

"But you liked it," and something tells Damon that this girl is much more then a pretty little face.

"You're right, I did." 

And she's letting out that little laugh again, head tilting smartly. She lays a gentle kiss on his lips, his eyes fluttering shut and staying that way for a beat after she pulls away. 

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to Neverland." She slips into this adorable little British accent, features slipping into a sweet pout. 

Suddenly, she's walking out and in the span of a blink; Damon is leaning against the wall at the base of the stairs. He looks like he belongs there, simply standing against the black brickwork.

And when she passes he gets the faint smell of something sticky sweet. Candy floss, maybe? 

"Nice dress, sweetheart." 

She jumps at his staccato tone, locking her bright doe eyes with his too knowing ones. His smooth lips twitch in a hint of a smile, head tilting at her. 

"Thank you," comes a voice that's a little breathy and he can tell it isn't from the walk down the stairs.

 _Gotcha_.

Calculating gaze flickers down the length of her, pausing at where a droplet of cum is still running down her thigh. And without even a skip in her little human heart beat, he kneels at her feet.

"You've got something," comes his warm rumble of a voice.

He takes the downy strip of fabric hanging on the rung of the stair rail, and he runs it softly along her thigh. Soon, it turns to gentle swipes as he cleans her skin. 

She smells _**divine**_.

That too blue gaze flickers up to where those gooey chocolate eyes are watching his every move. He presses his hands to his knees before he stands, tucking the silk into his back pocket. 

He looms over her, head inclining so he's hovering in her personal space. Calloused fingers raising to cup her chin, roughed thumb sliding over her deliciously pink bottom lip. 

"There. Nice and clean," and it's almost a heady purr.

A pause occurs and it's so unlike the one he witnessed upstairs. It's not sweet or romantic. It's dark like his hair and piercing like his eyes. It's delicious and hot, with hints of a young girl's curiosity and light. A moment the leads on to something that has the potential to be all consuming. 

Passionate. Blinding.

She blinks and it's gone, bare feet padding against concrete as she reels back from his grip. He matches her with a measured, predatory step forward. He can practically taste the blood humming through her skin, thrumming in her veins like the steady beating of drums. 

"Wendy!-" booms a boy's voice through the auditorium.

She seems to remember herself, running off in a flurry of dark curled tresses and blue nightgown. Then he hears her already familar voice over the backstage speaker-

"Yes, father?" 

His footsteps radiate ease, stepping quietly over to the side of the stage. And through the thick black curtains she's there, the perfect picture of a little girl being chastised.

Smooth lips curl up to reveal glinting pearl shaded teeth, a feral kind of smile. 

And, Damon Salvatore thinks his brother needs a lesson in learning how to _share_.


	2. Chapter 2

He's careful to make sure his little brother doesn't see him, tall figure shrouded in shadows as he watches the events unfold. 

The little brunette playing her part to the finish, the older Salvatore's tongue curling over a canine when she takes her bow. The silky nightgown so short that he can just see the barest hint of her lacy pink panties with the incline of her waist. 

Pretty, young, and sinfully tasty. Just _his_ type.

He watches as she leaves the side stage door and runs in the waiting arms of his brother. But Damon doesn't move, doesn't make a sound. And if this were a cliché movie, the light of a cigarette would be the only thing illuminating his sharper features.

Now, don't misunderstand. He senses the beautiful poetry of her tiny form tangled up in that of his brother's. But it would so much more Shakespeare with a pair of teeth sinking into the pale expanse of her throat.

He waits until they both climb into that atrociously bright little car, until they're gone in fading red lights and a whiff of exhaust. 

Then he begins his walk, an eerie feline sort of ease accompanying his stride whilst he takes his sweet time. Because finding the two in a more compromising postition is so much better then the latter. 

But because he's not a patient man, he loses his resolve halfway to the boarding house. And within what would be a simple flutter of the brunette's eyelashes, he's there. Boots dragging up the front steps and through the ornate wooden door. 

The fire crackles cheerfully in the hearth, a soft forties song drawls forth from a dusty record player. And there's his brother in the middle of it all with that young girl. The very same young girl who's wearing only his shirt. 

Just a hunch, really; considering that Stefan is currently without one and the one she's wearing is more of a dress then anything else. 

"Well, if it isn't my boring little brother." He purrs from the foyer, piercing azure gaze locked firmly on the wide doe eyes of the little human.

Stefan shifts immediately, standing in front of her. A hand curled around to rest firmly on her hip. Well, if that's his first move then she must know; seems his brother's gotten gutsy. 

Damon's lips part as if to say something more, but nothing comes out. Because that little brunette moves around his brother and pads softly toward him. Her petite hand extends out toward him, head tilting up toward his.

"I'm Katie, Stefan's girlfriend," he takes her hand with an arched brow. Because she's either very brave or very stupid. "And from this whole thing going on, I guess you would be Damon?"

And he smiles prettily, sharp teeth with a flash of black veins.

"The one and only. Also known as the better Salvatore brother," he snakes an arm around her waist. Transferring her hand to his shoulder, his body curled into her space. 

There's a delicate flush that colors her cheeks, her bright doe eyes studying his face for a brief moment. 

"Oh, I'm sure," she indulges softly. Her fingers trace the curve of his cheek before she moves to leave his grip. 

The caress leaves him reeling, making her escape rather easy. Stefan's watching them both tensely, fingers clenched to fists at his side. The same gentle fingers that ran over his cheek are the ones that uncurl his fist, and take his hand. 

She passes the record player, taking the needle off the vinyl with Stefan in tow. When they're halfway up the stairs he hears his brother.

"Do you have a death wish?"

She scoffs, throwing him a look over her pale shoulder. "No one deserves to be treated badly, Stefan." 

Her words are so simple, yet so full of a little girl's view that Damon finds himself tilting his head whilst watching her legs take to every step.

"Maybe we'll meet for dinner sometime," the threat is evident. Hell, it practically has blinking red lights. 

" _I'd love to_ ," comes her sweet, completely sincere reply. 

Calculating azure eyes narrow, watching their figures disappear down the hallway. The thrill of this new game sending a tremor up his spine. 

Because for once, the lamb is _sweet_ on the lion.


	3. Chapter 3

He awakens to the sound of feminine distress, a soft startled cry. But the dark haired immortal doesn't move, simply slides onto his back and narrows his gaze at the ceiling. 

"Mama? Please, someone help me find her. Please?" It's soft, fragile and reeking desperation.

It's followed by his brother's shushing, "easy, love." And there's a gentle hissing slide of what must be Stefan's fingers over her hair. "It's just a dream... God, you're burning up." 

Ah, a frail, human sickness. 

Then the lovely, fairy like pitter patter of his brother's feet meet his ears. And he's up and pulling a shirt on before another faithful beat of Katie's precious little human heart. 

He's at the doorway in a second, simply leaning. Surveying the surroundings, a tiger in a thrush. 

She's pale, not like the lovely kind that Damon likes to see stained with blood, the kind that looks too dead. Her chocolatey waves of hair in disarray, petite hands clutching the duvet to her chest like she's caught in a snow storm.

"You're not looking so hot, kitty cat," and she jumps. Tired eyes shifting to rest squarely on him, and it's almost like she's seen a ghost.

Concern, horrible and twisting, grips his heart like a thorn riddled vine. He speeds to her side, and she jumps once more. Their eyes meet, and the silence is filled with her rather pitiful breaths. A tentative calloused hand reaches up to cup her feverish cheek, and she gasps. Both of those little hands coming to keep it pressed there.

"Cold," she mumbles sleepily. 

And an unbidden twist of lips reveals a careful ghost of a smile. For the span of a pause they remain like that, frozen with his thumb rubbing over the apple of her cheek.

But with Stefan's footsteps returning he recoils, snatching his hand back like she burned him with a mere touch. 

"Damon, stay away." 

"Now, now, brother. I'm merely making sure our little lost girl is fairing okay," hazel gaze meets crystalline in a staring match that's ranged over decades. 

"Please, don't fight." Both snap their eyes to the petite human shivering in a mountain of puffy blankets.

"Here," a thermometer is pressed gently between those currently washed out pink lips. 

Stefan resumes, petting his hand over her hair. Her eyes fluttering shut, and though they only flutter to give Damon a soft glance; he knows that she's felt his knuckles smoothing rhythmically over her calf. It beeps, and Stefan sighs at the digital reading. It drops to the sheets, crystalline eyes flicking over to see the chipper little green numbers reading one-hundred and three. 

"High fevers run in my family, so does the whole- sick out of no where thing... Sorry, Steffie." And the younger Salvatore chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. 

"I'll need to run and get medicine, soup and stuff," he pauses and his gaze flickers to Damon. "I could always send Zach to go and-" 

"Go and play nurse, brother. I promise I won't touch a hair on her pretty, sickly little head." Damon's smile is sarcastic, cynical at best. 

She throws the older a look before returning her focus to Stefan. Her smile soft, albeit tired looking. "You heard him. Plus he'll be having all the fun, what with the Disney movies and hallucinations." 

Said older brother purses his lips, even adding a rolling of the eyes to be more dramatic.

She can tell it's reluctant when Stefan rises, he kisses her cheek and is out of the house before she can say another word.

"So, Damon..."

"So, Sicky..."

It's her turn to roll her eyes, watching as he settles over the duvet at her side. His hand holding up his head whilst he looks at her. She follows his motion, facing him on her side.

"I was told that you were a super dangerous vampire with teething issues and yet, here you are... Babysitting," she murmurs softly.

"Don't make me bite you," and to her credit she smiles wanly. 

"I think I'm a couple degrees above your favorite meal," a shrug is all she gets in response. 

There's a beat, where Damon's just searching those wide doe eyes. And there's a flash of it, just there in the warmth of her iris. The flash of sadness, someone who's lost someone important. 

Someone who's been treated awfully way too young. 

"Why didn't you wipe my memory?" 

The suddenness of her question pulls him from his reverie. "When?" 

"At the play," his brow furrows and his lips twist a bit.

"Aren't you on vervain?" She nods and he gestures as though there's the answer. 

"But you didn't know that," 

He sighs, sitting up and rising from the bedside. Sock clad feet sliding a bit as he strolls around Stefan's room, picking up a knick knack here or there.

"You ask so many questions," he sighs. It's a brush off, impersonal and effortless. In his hands is one of his brother's diaries, fingers skimming through the pages with a bored air. 

"How about you tell me all about you? Since I'm sure that Stefan has filled you in on our tragic backstory." Crystalline gaze rises to see her now guarded chocolate eyes. 

"Easy. Only child. Mom went missing. Under custody of dead beat dad," he notices that this is emotionless. 

It's practiced. A performer at heart because well rehearsed it is. 

"Really? No siblings?"

"Not any that count," at this he raises a brow. Once again rising to saunter over and join her on the bed. 

"A half sister, on my Dad's side." 

And it's as clear as the color of his sea glass eyes that she doesn't want him to know any of this. But he presses on, wanting to know why. Why this girl out of countless others? Why this so very simple little girl and not one from the Mystic Falls cheer team?

"Come on, the whole story. I want the juicy details, Wendy Darling." 

Her shoulders roll, now guarded doe gaze turned to the gray duvet piled over her folded legs. 

"I lived with my Mom forever. My Mom and Dad were never married, I was just a teenage mistake," there's a pause where Damon shifts forward. Fingertips just brushing where her legs sat. "My Dad never wanted me, and he got married. Started his very own family, I just wasn't in it." 

"Everything was good. The court mandated visits stopped when I was nine, simply because he didn't want me to visit. Life was perfect, until Mom went out one night with friends and never came back." She swallows, her shoulders now tensing harshly. 

The older Salvatore's hand moves to rest on her knee, because he knows what that's like... To lose a mother. 

"It's only a missing person's case for so long, and I guess with what I know now that I can say it was some vampire. But I don't know... I like to think that she's off on some sun drenched beach with a nice husband." She shrugs halfheartedly, turning to lay back down. 

Damon follows, this time climbing under the too fluffy covers with her. They rest a good several inches apart, laying to face each other. And he sees what kind of girl she is when he meets the soft doe eyes holding back tears, the strong pride in not being weak in front of him.

"So I deal. Stefan's nice enough to let me stay here most of the time. And to answer what I'm sure you're wondering, it's only verbal. He's never hit me," and Damon finds that he wasn't wondering at all. 

It never flitted across his brain that maybe she didn't like her father for another reason then what was practically abandonment. But now, he can see it. A younger chubby cheeked version of this girl who holds back tears under the onslaught of hurtful words. 

And for a wild, dangerous minute; Damon wishes he'd been there to say something. To defend a little girl who's mother was unable to come to her aid at the time. Now especially, when she isn't at all. 

"Damon I," she's cut off by his gentle shushing. His hand raising to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, running the backs his knuckles gently over her forehead. 

"Come'ere," his arms open and she shuffles into them tentatively. Her head resting on the cool of his clothed chest, his firm hand rubbing over her back. 

He likes to think he's chalking this whole thing up to the fact that he can't kill her when she's sick. That she shouldn't die sad and frail. The theory crumbles when he thinks about when in the hell he started caring.  

He resolves to just holding her, listening to her weak breaths even out into sleep filled wheezes.  Her arm shifting to be slung over his abdomen, right leg stretched under his. His free hand moves to rest gently over her heated forehead. 

The excuse bank runs up blank for when Stefan arrives back, so he welcomes the teasing. In this life of chaos and immortality, why not live a little. And if that so called little happens to involve holding your brother's sickly girlfriend while she sleeps then, so what? 

His eyes flutter shut, a sort of human like peace settling over him. And for a ghost of a second, without his do good little brother's presence, Damon Salvatore gives a damn.


	4. Chapter 4

She's having a fitful dream when he slips in, into the deep little world that was tucked away under all those dark tresses. He stands among the dark, a simple observer in what has her so upset.

A brunette women who looks like an older version of Katie with minor differences is leaving a cuddly looking blue house. 

"Bye, Momma. I love you to the moon and back," and the woman Damon now knows is her mother pauses to smile. 

"I love you to the moon and back," she throws a kiss before climbing into a friend's car. 

The vision ripples and fades, coming to light on a curled form on a couch. Stark sunlight peeps in from between the curtains, spotlighting the puffy redness of Katie's eyes from what must have been tears. 

She awakens and studies what Damon already knows to be an empty house. Bare feet tread quietly down the hall to a purple and gray toned room with the bed left empty. He shakes his head, stepping a tentative step forward as a sob breaks forth from the teen's chest. 

She runs, to the front door and out onto the street. In nothing, but a pair of black spandex and a whimsically printed t-shirt. She's screaming, name after name. Her voice cracking like thunder, and her chest heaving.  

And despite this being her memory recall, he speeds to her. A firm arm snagging her around the waist and raising her, kicking and screaming into his arms.

"Hey, hey, shhh..." Comes the soft silken calm of his tone, the fight draining like rainwater off glass. 

Her petite hands are fisted in his shirt, sobbing forcefully into his chest while he holds her to him. Calloused hand stroking over her hair, her knees wobble and collapse. He's catching her, falling onto denim covered knees to break her fall. 

The picture ripples abruptly, and suddenly she's got those gooey doe eyes piercing into his skull. 

"You were... You saw-"

"Yea, I did," the sound of his throat clearing startles her a bit. 

The memory seems less horrid now, gone is the continuous screaming until she falls against the harsh asphalt in a unconscious heap. Instead, he's there in her memory. All soothing whispers and a strong, yet firm grip. The smell she remembers shifts from warm dewy grass to the smell of mint and cinnamon. 

His hand presses to her forehead, finding it slick with sweat. Her feverish degree seems only to have risen, eyelids block his view of soft bourbon eyes.

"Goldfish crackers," she murmurs softly.

The vampire narrows his gaze carefully, "goldfish crackers?"

"When I was sick, my Mom used to buy Campbell's. But it was goldfish brand and the noodles we shaped like the crackers," she explains. Gaze finding an almost awe like expression on his face, probably due to her mental institution worthy rambling. "I called it 'fishy soup' when I was little." 

A ghost of a smile lights the older Salvatore's semi-permanent cynical features. Her fingers find his hand and stroke over it in a rhythmic sort of petting motion.

"I don't think they make it anymore," and he'll be damned if her face doesn't twist into an adorable little pout. 

And suddenly, unbidden it flashes to the forefront of his mind. A burst of heat that sticky sweet like how she smells and leaves the residue like cotton candy on his tongue. His mind's eye revealing the image of her spread beneath him, above him, or bent over the couch in the living room. His smooth lips scoring across her freckled shoulder blades and her nails shredding the upholstery.

The rhythm he would set is slow, definite. Just fast and hard enough to make her rock onto her painted toes. A groan sticks in his throat as the vision shifts to see her back flush against his front, and she asks... God, she begs for it. Hair swaying the one side as she tilts her neck and lets him sink his fangs into it, his hips undulating against hers whilst she shudders and finds her release. While he paints her hot little core with his own bliss. 

Her sigh is what shatters his reverie, azure gaze finding her sound asleep on Stefan's bed. He's startled at being lost in a dream. A dream within a dream. 

She being his Annabel Lee.

He's gone in a matter of seconds, speeding into the living room and noisily opening a scotch decanter. He can monitor her from there, what with his hearing- what did it fucking matter anyhow? He didn't care for Stefan. An eternity of misery.

 ( He needed to get his head out of his ass. ) 

He should kill her. Drain her boiling body dry and hit the fucking road, maybe go to New York and tear up the town. But he doesn't stir, simply sits and stares. 

His sitting and staring uninterrupted by the rhythmic heartbeat that floated to him from upstairs.


	5. Chapter 5

He hears her sigh, that's what does it. He didn't mean to slip in, not this time. He found he was only safe in her nightmares, but this. This was some fresh hell just for him.

She's dreaming about Stefan.

Her hands grip the end of the bed, held there by some silky fabric. Soft chocolate tresses shade her downcast face, and Stefan is behind her. He murmuring something Damon can't even hear. That alone, serves as some kind of torture. 

"Please?" She murmurs, back arching and her head tips letting Damon see the desperation written there.

"Count," comes Stefan's soft reply. 

And it takes quite a bit to stun the eternal stud himself, but this startled him immensely. 

Stefan's hand comes cracking down onto her soft little behind. She whines, tugging at her bonds. But she runs her tongue over her lips and says, "one." 

Suddenly, the urge to know whether this is memory fueled burns him. So Damon digs, furrows into her head like a poison into a wound. His consciousness brushing hers and as a result, the vision of her before him moans. But this is no memory, this is what she wants. A fantasy, hot and sticky. Yet, it's still there in that pretty little head of hers. 

A smile curls the eldest Salvatore brother's lips, heated and feral. He lets himself appear in her dream, leaning coolly against the doorway. 

"Stefan, you're not doing it right." Comes his remark, and the sweet little thing tied to the bed jumps. 

Bright doe eyes meet his, her plush lips parting and her face becoming a lovely rose. 

He saunters forward, like he's some perfect Saint. Hips flush with hers, hands cupping her sides. Though, this is her dream she seems to know exactly what he likes. Just his luck that Stefan finds the perfect girl for his older brother. 

He gives a thrust against her, and she breathes a hint of a moan. The rough fabric of his jeans caressing bare skin, calloused hands comes into her view as they bracket her own.

He crowds her. Body flush with her own until his lips are right there at her ear, so close that he even presses a kiss to the soft spot behind it. 

There's a beat, a heated pause with just them. Just his body and her own in this too vivid dream. 

"What do you want, kitten?" 

He's ripped from her dream whilst she jumps awake, and he listens to her fumble around in the sheets. Then he hears her feet touch the floor, and he's swooping down upon her in a matter of seconds.

"What are you doing?" 

She jumps and glares up at him, "I'm simply gathering a change in scenery." 

"You should stay in bed, kitten." It's all purred deep in his chest, and he doesn't miss her shiver.

She looks up at him, blinks dumbly for a moment before her entire face colors a shade of over ripened tomato.

Before Damon can say much else, the door opens downstairs. 


	6. Chapter 6

"Love?" Comes Stefan's soft voice from the parlor. But she can't seem to get her lips to move to answer. 

Bourbon eyes lock with crystalline, there's too much knowing happening in the older Salvatore's gaze. And she's suddenly very aware of her attire being limited to Stefan's t-shirt. 

Damon tilts his head at her, Stefan's voice fading from her radar until it's nothing, but the sound of Damon's unnecessary breathing and her own, harsher breaths like she's run a marathon.  She sways on her feet, toward him like the little needle on a metronome.

She can practically feel his eyes piercing into her soul. Her lips parting with a gentle, little sigh. 

A blink, that's all it takes. Then he's got her backed to the wall, and Stefan's footsteps down in the hall are deafeningly loud. She's incredibly dizzy off the sweet scent of mint that rolls of Damon Salvatore, sort of like a rose. Smells sweet, makes you bleed. 

His smooth lips are a hairsbreadth from hers, and he's looking at her like he wants to eat her alive. Calloused hand raising to cup the side of her throat, she gives a noise like a whine at the frosty temperature of his skin compared to her too hot. 

"I said, what do you want, kitten?" His voice is liquid sin, and he sounds ruined already. Stefan's feet become a steady beat on the stairs.

"I want... I," the words aren't coming out and god, he's so close to her. 

He's leaning in to her throat, sliding his hand back and running his tongue up the smooth column of her neck. Her breath hitches, nails coming to dig into his shoulders. 

Then he's chuckling softly, because life is all too sweet for him, what with this delicate little thing writhing in his embrace. He begins sucking on a particularly sweet spot on her neck, a hickey. 

She's shoving at him then, because even in a mushy, fever state she knows that he can't mark her. He snarls, barring down on her. Heartbeat pitches into overdrive as she hisses and claws. His hands finding her thighs and tipping her up against him. And god, he feels so good, but she can't- 

There's a wind, and she falls into someone's back. The comforting smell of lavender greets her and her arms go around Stefan's waist. Face pressed into his back. Damon watches with a sneer, pretty face twisted effortlessly. 

He's ignoring how she's pressed into Stefan like a scared, little girl. He's ignoring how he wants to take her into his arms and smother her in kisses until she does something incredibly teenage girl like giggle. 

He ignores it all. 

Instead, he growls and rushes forward out of Stefan's bedroom. Saying something along the lines of "should've killed her when I had the chance." 

And he's kicking himself when she flinches and buries her face further in Stefan's back. 

He's not out the door before he hears the sound of Stefan shushing her and the sharp gasp of tears. His self loathing kicking him into high gear. 


	7. Chapter 7

It's nine in the morning, yet Damon finds himself sliding into a bar stool at a tacky little restaurant called the Mystic Grill. 

He tells himself that he's not drowning his sorrows, he's simply getting the taste of her skin out of his mouth - cotton candy and pretty things. 

He knocks back the most expensive thing they have in stock, which actually isn't too bad. His fingers drum the table top for a while, bright gaze catching the delicate, shimmery fabric of a woman's dress - following it upward to find the face of an upset brunette. 

Distraught and desperate, easy meal. Hell, it's practically like drivethru. So he stands, and takes the seat next to her. An easy smile pasted onto his face.

\- It's five in the evening when she wakes up, her cheek resting on Stefan's chest. She shifts, looking up at him. His eyes are shut, her own feel too puffy when she blinks. Her hand slides over his chest and down, rucking up his shirt to run her fingers over his bare skin. 

She looks up again and meets breathtaking forest eyes. He smiles softly at her, and she smiles back tiredly. His lips press to her forehead, before moving to her lips. 

"No more fever," he murmurs, causing her to smile. 

She shifts up onto his lap, thighs straddling his hips. His hands settling on hers, one pushing a frizzy bit of hair behind her ear.

"What would you like for lunch? Well, I guess it's dinner now." 

"A disgustingly, greasy burger."

He chuckles a hum, sitting up without dislodging her. "I think I can make that happen." 

 -It's times like this when Damon can really dwell how much he loathes his little brother. 

He's halfway to a booth with the little brunette holding his hand. Steadily darkening blue eyes watch as they slide into the same side of the booth. How disgustingly sweet. Damon's suddenly pondering the pain of immortal cavities. 

The other, older, slightly sluttier brunette that's currently attached to his hip is leaning her head on his shoulder.

What's her name? Andy? Doesn't matter, she'll be dead soon anyway. 

His gaze remains trained on his brother and his little kitten. She's got her phone out, eyes glued to it with an air of concentration. Stefan has his arm around her shoulder, pointing to something on it while she reaches out to swipe at it. 

She smiles in a soft little way, leaning over to kiss him. Fingers sliding up into the hair at the nape of his neck, startled away by the voice of their server. Her face buried in his neck, blood rushing to her cheeks. 

Damon can feel his veins crawl beneath his eyes as his blood begins a steady hot boil. All it takes is a hiss and he's dragging out, Candy? Andy?, into the parking lot. 

He shoves her back against the wall, secluded from the world in the shadows of the dark side alley. Hands pitching her up in a cruel mockery of his actions earlier and he wants... god, he wants _her_. Not this cheap, older, generic knockoff. 

He's not going to complain, however and it seems neither is she because she's only rucking up her dress farther. A quickie in an alleyway isn't his style, but he can live with this. 

The steady beat in his chest is encouraging him to rip her to shreds. He thrusts up without warning, not giving her time to adjust before he's pistoning in and out. Calloused hand shoved over her mouth, the other digging into the dingy brickwork behind her head. 

How long's it been? Twenty minutes? Thirty four? He can't tell, all of it's becoming skewed, lost in the disgusting bricks that scratch at his palms. 

He faintly hears people, and why not cause a scene? Panic, mass hysteria, a stirring in those precious small town bleeding hearts. His grip on her throat becomes too tight, not pleasurable. She starts to struggle, fear rolling out of every little, human pore. 

Blunt nails dig into her scalp as he tears her head to the side, latching his fangs into the crook of her neck and basking in the pure carnage of it all.

There's a girlish sound near the mouth of the alley, then a gasp. And a choked sort of sound, reasonable enough to make when you're stumbling across a woman being sucked dry in some dark side street. 

"Stefan," its worried and quaking. The eldest Salvatore lifting his head to meet the gooey doe eyes of a familiar face. It flickers between his eyes and the shimmering blood drip, dripping it's way down his chin.

He watches her blink and within the minute closing of her eyes. He's moved, redressed and concealing the rapidly cooling body behind him. 

Calloused hands front and center, like calming a spooked fawn. He can feel the sticky, thick slide of blood down one hand. 

It's the last thing he registers before the deafening crack of his own neck.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can smell her, all sticky sweet coating his throat. He'd give anything to sink his teeth into her, her neck, her thigh, her breast - he isn't picky.

Her soft voice floats through the haze, she's talking in a steady little rhythm. One that matches his long dead heart regaining speed. His vision swims with the same dank, brown; for awhile he thinks it's the Earth, that he's been buried alive. 

He swipes at the ceiling with a lazy hand, not unlike a large, drugged panther. Time reveals it to be the ceiling of the cellar, he doesn't have to move his head to realize he's been chucked into the small prison cell. 

He focuses on her voice, floating to him from upstairs in that same rhythm. Then he realizes she's reading aloud, hears the minute turning of a page before the rhythm continues. 

"I'm mopping near the ward door when a key hits it from the other side," her voice is sweet and gentled. 

Damon faintly begins purring at the sound of her, a low, warm sound that rumbles in his chest. In his half conscious  state, it seems like a relevant option. 

It's awhile later when he hears her voice through the smothering darkness he's simmering in. 

"Are you sure he's alright, Stefan?"

_Of course, I'm alright, kitten._ The blantant answer seems to fall on deaf ears, and he's royally pissed until he realizes he hasn't moved his jaw to speak. 

"He'll be fine, love. He's probably being a drama queen to get attention," comes Stefan's reply. If Damon could roll his eyes, he would. 

"Can I at least go in to give him a blanket or something?" 

The soft question makes Damon rumble a low purr, such an adorable little thing. There's the brief image of her seated on his lap, his hands stroking through her hair. _Come on in, honey. Daddy doesn't bite._

She gives a little laugh, "Is he purring?" Damon briefly hears Stefan's sigh of annoyance, and if he could smile he would. 

"It comes with the whole predator package," replies the younger Salvatore. 

"I think it's kind of cute," she murmurs softly. Damon hears the shift of her little bare feet, the rasp of her fingertips over what must be Stefan's shirt. 

"Why don't you purr?" Stefan doesn't reply to her question, merely presses a soft kiss to her lips. They leave with him trailing after her, she darts up the stairs with a giggle and Damon hears the gasp of breath as Stefan catches her around the waist.

His eyes blink open slowly, feeling a sluggish regaining of limbs. And the steady rhythm of her voice floats from outside the door. 

"He gets up, slips the deck of cards into the pocket of his jacket."

Damon rises, pushing to his knees and swaying tiredly. He's **starving** , the smell of her pretty beating heart is making his head spin. 

"Kitten?" He rumbles roughly, hearing her hitch of breath. He's standing, leaning heavily against the door and gazing down at her from the barred window. She's sitting against the wall, blue covered book between her fingers. Crystalline gaze runs the length of her from the school hoodie to the short shorts. He runs his tongue over his lips, her wide doe eyes follow the movement.

If she was any closer, he'd order her to open this door. He just can't tell if he'd feed on her or fuck her when she got inside. 

"You killed someone," is the first thing she actually says to him. He's studying her eyes, there isn't fear; it's a mixture of curiosity and guard. 

"I was hungry," he answers as if the only thing he's ever killed was a drive thru cheeseburger.

"She wasn't a microwave meal, Damon." It's the first time he's ever heard her really use his name, shame it's now.

"So maybe I didn't have to kill her, I did. Can't change that now," her bottom lip quivers while he talks and he suddenly realizes how upset she is by this. How she believed him to be a better man. 

Problem is, he's not a man.

"Come on, kitten. You know I'd never hurt you," it's coaxing and inviting all in one darkened cocktail. His arms are resting fully out of the door way now, like he's true to this whole prison thing. 

She nibbles on her bottom lip, and he leans in closer as if to watch the minute movement better. He means it... partly. The only pain he'd ever inflict on her, she's like it. A nip to the neck, smack to a denim covered bottom, pinch to sweet rosy buds through a pretty pink bra. 

"I'm not letting you out," she rises from the floor. Her delicate fingers picking at a string on her hoodie sleeve.

"Kitten, Daddy's very hungry so if you could be a good girl and open the door," his voice is a warm rumble. 

She shifts, thighs rubbing with a needy accuracy. Her back is to the wall, softened chocolate gaze moving to meet his. When he catches the scent of her, his forehead moves to rest against the bars. Intoxicating, all heat and candy floss. He wants to taste her in every sense of the word. 

Plush lips part as if she's going to speak, but Zach comes trotting down the stairs and she clutches her book to her chest timidly; knowing she's been caught. 

"Stefan specifically told me not to let you down here. Come on, or I'll be kicked out for good." He jerks a thumb behind him, Damon's gaze watching her pad off in a dejected fashion. She murmurs something faint about just wanting to read to him.

Zach glares at his uncle, gaze running over the makeshift prison door to see if everything was still in place.

"You just can't leave well enough alone, can you, Damon?"

"You know I never can."

She's not there when he kills Zach, his death toll rising steadily as a graph on automobile accidents. He doesn't know whether to be angry or relieved. Just imagining how good she'd taste is enough to drive him mad. 

He'd take her over the back of the couch first, hurried and hard; forcing beautiful little grunts from her plush lips. 

Then he'd take it slow, give her some pretty little ears, and a tail plug. He tips back the rest of his glass with a heavy sigh, picturing in a swirl of sensory overload the sound of her little belled collar jingling as he thrust in. 

The sun continues it's steady decline, and he revels in it. The sun comes down, and the predator comes out. And one little girl? Well, she just cums.


End file.
